Shannon's and Rory's Journey Continues -

If Shannon had been morose and silent earlier in their journey, Rory found him almost too animated and chatty as they neared Connery, the Ayrshire village where Heather lived. Traveling along the coast of Scotland Shannon began to recognize some of Heather’s favorite scenery, happily pointing them out to his friend and telling stories of his and his wife’s sojourns to the location. Rory shook off a headache, just too pleased to see how happy Shannon was.

“Rory, old, son, sure and will she e’en recognize me. I may look as much as 5 years younger with the drink out of me system,” Shannon asked hopefully.

Rory smiled, “Aye, five or even ten. She’ll see ye as ye looked when she first saw ye. And fell for ye, saints be praised.” He did not say anything about Shannon’s misshapen nose from when it was broken.. or the remaining scar visible on his neck from a self inflicted dagger wound. He prayed that Heather would not notice or would kindly overlook them.

Rory had many misgivings about the goal of their journey. Shannon had convinced himself Heather wanted him back. It was hard not to be infected by his excitement, but Rory had told the Queen just a month before that he saw nothing in Heather’s message that indicated her desire for rekindling their old affection for one another. As fragile as Shannon’s recovery from drinking was, any slight disappointment could damage his resolve and worse. And what Rory knew about Heather was that she could disappoint with a vengeance.

Rory did not meet Heather until she and Shannon had been married for a good year or more. Shannon had traveled to Scotland after meeting Sean the Scotsman in his travels in Britain. There he had met the small serious woman who had won him, a feat no woman in four countries had accomplished. Rory had had the misfortune of meeting her after Shannon had taken off to travel back to Tyrone more or less on a whim. He had come back to a resentful wife, unhappy to have been left with people she had never wished to live with, who were to her the ones in fact that had made Shannon bring her away from her beloved home. To add insult to injury, Shannon had shown up back at Ratherwood with a bastard son, two year old Seamus, in tow and expected her to embrace the child as her own.. with no child of her own expected just yet. Shannon earned his wife’s bitter recriminations, but strangely never seemed to believe she really meant them or could stay angry with him. His blindness confounded all who knew them both but the O’Neill steadfastly refused to believe the situation was hopeless.

The little village came into view as the two Irishman crested the very hill that Heather had longingly turned back from to see her home for the last time, or so she had thought, a good many years before. Shannon’s face was radiant, even flushed, as he quickened his pace. “Look, me lad, the path there.. it shall take us to me darlin’s wee cottage.” Rory sped to catch up as Shannon took off at a run down the path.

Rory could hear the crash of waves as they came nearer the cottage. Shannon sprinted ahead and was lost around a hedge before Rory could overtake him. When he did he found his friend standing puzzled in the little dooryard. The kitchen garden was not tilled for spring planting. No chickens scratched in the dust, and no goat was penned in the small bier. No smoke rose from the squat chimney above the thatch that Shannon himself had patched many a year ago. Shannon dashed to the door of the cottage just as Rory came up behind him.

“Heather, me only darlin’, where are ye?” Shannon called into the dark of the cottage. He went in. Rory followed.

As their eyes adjusted from the bright sun to the inner gloom, the two men stood shocked. It was obvious the cottage had been cleared out. Heather was not only not there she had left permanently.

Shannon said in a flat voice, “Sure and she left more here when we left for Christenlande these many a year ago.” He moved about the room, his arms crossed over his chest, his eyes almost unfocused. Some of the furnishings were still here. The bed lay where it had been but was naked of any coverings. “This be where me darlin’ and me made love for the first time.” He looked a thousand miles away when he said to Rory, “She was a virgin, ye know.” He continued to pace around the room. “I fixed where the daub and wattle was after crumblin’ here. The hearth stones were loose here.. I made that right as well.”

Rory noticed a sack shoved under a low shelf in the kitchen area. “What be this lot?” he wondered aloud. He went over and picked it up. Shannon took it and pulled it open. He reached in and pulled out various items of clothing, a toy flute, some other items. His face went pale.

“These all be things o’ mine. The flute I made to please her.” He took out a large shell. His voice faltered as he explained, “This was s-something I found when we w-walked upon the shore. It was… a love token…” He looked around at Rory. “She must have forgotten these things when she left.” He wandered to the doorway and stood in it, stroking the wood of the doorframe. “She kissed me for the first time here.”

He wandered out into the dooryard listlessly. Rory followed him.

“Me lad, d’ye not have a friend here, who is a friend o’ Heather’s as well? Mayhap he knows if she just moved into the village or where she hath gone.”

Shannon brightened, “Och, aye, Sean and Emily. D’ye not remember him, Rory? He was the fellow who sang those wonderful battle songs at Ratherwood Castle.”

Rory smiled, “Aye, I remember the man. A good fellow, strong deep voice. I think he was a friend to the King. Now I remember he returned here to become a crofter.” He put his hand on Shannon’s shoulder. “Let’s be after goin’ to see Sean, me lad.”

Sean’s and Emily’s cottage was just as Shannon recalled. Small but well kept, with a warm light coming out into the dusk. There was still a table out in the dooryard. Children’s wooden toys lay about. The smell of soup and baking bread hung on the air. As they approached a man came around the corner of the cottage with an armload of firewood. He stopped to see who it was.

“Sean, be that ye?” Shannon called.

The man stood a moment, then dropped the wood and exclaimed, “O’Neill! Can it really be ye? “ He rushed up and took Shannon by the shoulders, looking into his face. “Aye, ‘tis Shannon, and it looks like ye hae been in more than a few scrapes!” He looked over at Shannon’s companion. “Could this be…Rory McGuinness?!” He called to the cottage, “Emily, lass, come out into the yard. It be Shannon O’Neill and his friend McGuinness.”

A tiny raven haired woman came out of the cottage door wiping flour from her hands with an apron. Several small children of various sizes gathered about her legs to look out past her at the visitors. Emily’s eyes lit up. “Shannon, as I do live and breathe!”

She rushed out, the children remaining shyly by the door. She threw her arms around Shannon, “I am that happy t’see ye, O’Neill. And though I hae ne’er met ye, McGuinness, ‘tis a bonny pleasure to do it now!”

Shannon beamed at the cluster of children in the doorway. “Why, Sean,, ye old rascal.. sure and it looks like ye have been busy these many years.”

Emily twinkled, “And so ye assume these are all his, d’ye?” Sean put his arms around her shoulders.

Shannon laughed and remarked, “Well they are all after lookin’ like the man.” He turned to Sean again. “Sean, me lad, where is Heather?”

Sean stopped smiling and looked at Emily, whose own warm smile had faded a bit. “She’s left, Shannon. She went to Christenlande t’ see ye.. did ye not get her message?”

Sean ushered the men into the cottage where they were seated at a table and given mugs of ale. Shannon waved his away, causing Sean and Emily to exchange looks again. “Sure and I gave it up, me friends. On account o’ the beatin’ ye see I got. And for the reason that if me darlin’ Heather wants me back, she will want a sober man.”

Rory caught a frown on Emily’s face, which only he could see as she turned from the table. His heart skipped a beat and a sense of dread came over him.

Shannon answered Sean’s question, “Aye, I did get a message sayin’ she was comin’ down but then another that said she would be delayed. I thought we should be after findin’ her here or meetin’ her on the road. “

Sean shook his head, “Nay she left when she planned to, but methinks the lassie took another route, as she planned to go by way o’ Northumbria.”

Rory looked up at the Scot. “Northumbria? That be a wee bit out o’ the way, be it not?”

Shannon broke in, “And did she have me children wi’ her?”

Emily smiled and put a gentle hand on his arm. “Of course, aye, Seamus and Deirdre are wi’ her. They are her bairn too, ye know.”

Shannon shook his head, “Och I know, ‘tis a wonderful thing how she took in me bastard son Seamus as if he were her own.”

Rory’s own memory was that Heather had taken some time to warm to the child, but had come to love him as if he was her own, even after little Deirdre had been born. Shannon seemed to be making many changes in his own account and memory of his life with his wife.

“Now why would she be after goin’ to Northumbria?” Shannon was not really asking Sean and Emily this which was a relief to both of them. They let his thoughts go unanswered.

The two old friends reminisced, exchanged news and had a fine meal along with Rory, Emily and the many quiet fascinated children. When Sean took Shannon out to show him some small building he had been doing Rory took Emily aside. “Beg pardon, Emily, but what goes on here? Why is Heather gone? Why is she in Northumbria?”

Emily wrung her hands in her apron and looked miserable. “Och, Rory, I cannae say. I am sworn to keep her confidence. But ‘tis not good news.” She saw Rory’s stricken look. “He truly expects t’see her again and to be reunited?”

Rory nodded. “And he is that fragile now. He hath been in a bad way for a long time, since he believed I was dead and since Heather left him once and for all he has been worse. “

“The drink?” Emily asked.

“Aye, and women. Lots and lots of women. He has given both up in hopes o’ winnin’ Heather back, but methinks this shall not be… and I fear sorely for what it shall do to the darlin’ man.”

“Och, Rory, the man is a merry one… ye dinnae think he can weather this storm?” Emily prompted.

Rory shook his head. “Nay, the merriment be not the real man. The real man is broken hearted, a broken man. He wanted to die just a fortnight and more ago and even tried to do the deed himself.”

Emily crossed herself, “Nay, dinnae say it. Be that the scar on his neck?”

Rory answered, “And the scars on his wrist.”

Emily hung her head, glad that the children were out following their father and the O’Neill about. “God forgive him. The poor man.”

The old friends appeared at the door. Shannon asked brightly, “What poor man?”

Rory answered, “I was just after tellin’ ye’r wife, Sean, about the King and Queen and their separation this past year.”

Shannon laughed, “And were ye speakin’ of Lawrence or o’ the beatin’ I got from him?” He winked.

Sean laughed and slapped his friend on the back. “Sounds like ye hae been none too choosy in who ye pick fights with, me friend. I have to hear that tale.”

Shannon and Rory resolved to set out again in the morning to retrace their steps and then to veer towards towards Northumbria.

In the morning Rory went out into the cool, misty dawn to breathe the clear air of a Scottish morn. He walked to the edge of the dooryard and stood, with his back leaning against the gate post. He was looking out at the distant Irish Sea and thinking of home when he heard a rustling near him. He glanced over to see the flaxen haired girl in the pale blue dress standing looking at him with a mischievous smile and again, one finger in her mouth. She giggled. “Rory,” She said.

Rory moved his leg from where he had crossed it over his other as he leaned back and stood to face her. “Colleen,” he said, mystified. “How came ye here?”

She just stared up at him and said again, “Rory.” She twisted back and forth as if she was dancing.

Rory smiled. “What can I do for ye, wee one? How come ye to me these many a time?”

The girl started to turn, but looked back at the tall man. “Rory,” she repeated. “Help me and I shall help thee.” She turned entirely away and vanished into thin air.

Rory gasped. Just then Emily found him where he stood, gawking at no one. “Have ye seen a ghost, McGuinness?”

Rory looked at her. “I dinnae know, Emily, I dinnae know.”

As they left Connery on the path on which they came Shannon’s step had lost its buoyancy. Rory prayed for guidance, for a way to stave off whatever grief was awaiting his friend at their long journey’s end.

Next: Shannon's and Rory's Journey - Northumbria

Trial by Battle: A Murder Mystery - Part the Fourth

The next morning the two Irishman approached the Field of Honor, which in this case was part of the town common, next to the newly erected scaffold with the gallows, and which was overlooked by the sheriff's palace. That worthy fellow was standing in a wide window not far above the field. Some seats had been built for the higher caste observers of the battle. Off to one side two guards were bringing Sunshine out. She was praying, her hands, fettered as they were, clasped in prayer, her head bowed, her lips moving silently. Rory glanced around the groundlings, the lower caste observers who did not rate seats. He saw the old man, Sunshine's grandfather, there. He also thought for a moment he saw a little flaxen haired girl in a light blue dress peek out from between two corpulent women who were arguing about something. But a split second later he could not see her.

When his opponent, Leofu, entered the field resplendent in his good if rather bumpkin-like armor, the crowd cheered wildly. A few of the groundlings, including the old man, booed, and one could hear boos coming from the direction of the gaol.

When Rory stepped out there was a moment of silence, then the crowd, both castes together, burst into torrents of derisive laughter. Only the old man and Shannon.. and the village idiot, who was hanging upside down from a rail for tying horses .. cheered.

Shannon put his hand on his friend's shoulder. His look was grave. "Rory, old son, come out o' this alive, d'ye hear? God grant ye strength and agility." Rory patted Shannon on his own shoulder and nodded.

Rory turned to face Sunshine where she was looking to him from between the two guards. He went to her and kneeled. "Good woman, I do swear before God to defend ye to the best o' me ability, for ye are innocent of these foul charges against ye."

Some snickers came from the crowd. Sunshine reached with her fettered hands into the fold of her prison gown and brought out a small piece a plain linen cloth. She leaned to Rory and reached to him with the cloth. He took it, her favor, and tied it to a fastening on his chest plate. The woman breathed, "Go with God and the love ye have for that other Sunshine, Rory McGuinness."

Rory nodded, crossed himself and stood. He turned to face Leofu who stood in the center of the Field of Honor. Rory closed his eyes for a moment and then swallowed. He looked to where Shannon was standing apart from the others and saluted him. Shannon's face was tight with anxiety, but he managed a smile and a wink.

Rory and Leofu each reached out and took the other's gauntleted hand. Then each backed away and drew their swords. Both men raised their arms with both fists tight on the hilts of their broadswords and advanced on one another. The first blows came down with a sharp painful clang as steel met steel. Leofu raised his arms to strike again and Rory lunged for his midsection. Leofu roared with surprise and evaded the blow. He swung and struck a glancing blow off Rory's shoulder armor which resounded with a tinny thud. The blow did not hurt Rory, who seized the opportunity to spin and swing his sword across Leofu's body, just missing connecting with the man's chest plate.

With each blow or near blow a sound came up from the crowd, a sort of burst of voiced sighs. A cheer rose when one of Leofu's blows broke the leather hinge that held Rory's right shoulder armor on. The piece now clanked against his back plate. Rory saw the big, red faced man before him was baring his teeth in a snarl. Rory snarled back. Most who knew him would never have believed he could make such a savage, guttural sound.

The battle pressed on, Rory amazed to be holding his own against the stouter, younger opponent. But he was tiring. His muscles were not as toned as the young oaf's were. One of the man's blows brought blood from a slice to Rory's side. It was not deep, but it smarted. Rory kept his concentration and landed more than one blow of his own, one a resounding jab to the man's solar plexus that must have at least left a nasty bruise.

As the blows rained from both sides, the crowd seemed to be less inclined to cheer Leofu and boo Rory. A few approving "ohs" came up when he had made that sharp jab at Leofu. Nevertheless, Rory soon knew that he was going to be bested. He knew if he had to, he could surrender and not be killed. But that would mean that Sunshine would be hanged. He knew he could not allow that to happen, even at the cost of his own life.

He glanced at her and saw that her eyes were full of fear. He shot her a smile from under his bucket helm.. She saw it and smiled back. He touched the favor she had given him, and she blew him a kiss. He spun to find Leofu bearing down on him. "I shall die with a kiss from my Sunshine on me lips, "he thought and took his best stance to parry or bear the blow.

"Hold!" The voice rang out from the edges of the crowd. Leofu faltered as he looked up, apparently recognizing the voice. Rory had a chance to lunge at him and catch him off balance. Then Rory just stood and held his sword pointing towards the big man.

"I said HOLD!" came the voice again. Rory looked and saw a man, a big man with powerful shoulders and arms coming through the parting crowd.

Shannon recognized him at once as the woodcutter he had tried to convince to come forward and finger Leofu as the murderer of the faithless Beatrice. Rory caught Shannon's look of recognition and made the connection quickly. He looked to Leofu for his reaction.

"Woodcutter!" Leofu bellowed.

Shannon glanced up at the sheriff in his comfy field-side window. He was scowling at Leofu and woodcutter in turn. Perhaps he did not know the truth, Shannon was thinking.

The newcomer to the scene walked up to Rory. He reached out his hand for the sword Rory still clutched in both his fists. He muttered low to Rory, "Give it me. This be not thy battle, sirrah."

Rory handed the weapon over. "Sure and gladly I shall." He scooted as fast as he could out of the Field of Honor to his friend's side. Shannon was smiling his delight and clapped Rory happily on the back. They turned to watch the drama unfold.

The woodcutter - Shannon wondered if the man even had a name - stood with the sword ready and called up to the sheriff without taking his eyes off Leofu. "My lord sheriff, thou hast accused and imprisoned the wrong person in the murder of the woman Beatrice!"

The sheriff's face was guarded. "Woodcutter, if not the prisoner, then who? And what is thy proof?"

The woodcutter shouted back, "This evil man before me, Leofu, who was Beatrice's intended, hath killed her, not the fair Sunshine. And for proof I have my own word for I saw him do the deed.. And no man will e'er question my word in this town." There was a general murmur of assent from both castes of the crowd. He went on, "The woman was returning home from a tryst with me, carrying my gift of love, a wooden talisman, when this scoundrel did confront her and kill her with a blow to her head. I had followed the girl much after she left and saw the cruel deed done."

The sheriff called out, "Then why did thee not come forward with thy tale, but let… this innocent… be accused?"

The woodcutter glanced over at Rory. "I was a coward. I waited first to see if the lass would find a champion and if he should prevail. I came forward now for I believed this minstrel would die and Sunshine with him."

Shannon gave Rory a shove, making him stumble a bit. Rory shot him a dirty look.

Leofu saw that his chances were slim. "Aye, I killed the strumpet. I knew she was lying with this.. woodcutter. And no doubt was with child by him. What else would any man here do?"

Although many masculine voices appeared to agree, the sheriff waved his hand and guards rushed forward to take Leofu's sword and then to bind him. Sunshine, newly released from her own bonds, ran to her grandfather and embraced him. The two then came to where Rory was standing in his ancient armor with Shannon.

The old man embraced Rory and kissed him on the cheek. Rory blushed. Then the woman who was the double of Queen Josephine was before him. He knelt before her and took the favor she had given him and held it out to her. "Nay, sir knight, take it with thee and think on the goodness that made thee fight for an unknown woman."

He took her hand and kissed it. She took both of his and urged him to stand. She leaned forward and on tiptoe to plant a sound kiss on his lips. This time everything in him knew that fair as she was, this was not his beloved lady. She said, "Find love, good sir. Do not let it pass thee by."

He nodded, and he and Shannon watched as the old man and the woman walked away, their arms about each other.

Shannon smirked, "Find love, but not with her, I see."

Rory shrugged.

Shannon remarked, "Sure and I am going to miss that armor."

Rory shoved him back and said, "Let's be after getting' the hell out of this town. I should not like to have to trust that sheriff."

Shannon doffed his cap and bowed elaborately, "After ye, sir knight."

Next: Shannon's and Rory's Journey Contiues

Trial by Battle: A Murder Mystery - Part the Third

Shannon doubled over laughing. "Saints preserve us, if it isn't some sort of steel scarecrow."

Rory stood just outside the smithy dressed in his armor, such as it was. It was old, dented, stained and although the rust was off, in places it looked too corroded to stay together. The helm looked like an upside down bucket. Rory's parti-colored leggings stuck out from under the frayed skirt of chain mail.

Shannon fell to the ground, still doubled over and shrieked with laughter.

Rory's tolerance for his friend's antics was at an all time low. "Shan, I be after askin' ye to remember that ye may be laughin' at me for the last time."

Shannon, with difficulty, stopped laughing. He pulled himself to his feet, and with little sobs of laughter, wiped tears from his own eyes. "Me lad, ye have nothin' to fear.. ye shall scare the man to death."

Rory was not feeling in the least like laughing. He was seriously questioning his decision to do trial by battle for the fair Sunshine. Sure, and she was the spittin' image of the Queen, but she was not Josephine, and he was not Lawrence. Though a soldier once he had spent the past few years wandering the British Isles telling stories and singing with his minstrel friend Shannon O'Neill, who was now only sniffing in the aftermath of his hilarity..

Rory had been somewhat relieved that while he was practicing with the sword the smith had lent him he discovered there were still a few good tricks in his repertoire. He still had the powerful lunge that had saved his life more than once in the clan wars. His stance was still solid, his swing with both arms was still there. He thought to himself, "Aye, and at least I have a wee bit more chance than a snowball in Hell."

He had been appalled by the armor, but had high hopes the smith could work his magic and make it at least presentable. Alas, he had no comfort there. He had not needed Shannon's reaction to know that.

"Aye, well, then let's be getting' on with it." He thought, "I have to die some day.. at least this will be an honorable death." He cheated death once on the gallows… he did not expect to have that chance again.

Thinking of that gallows, reminded him why he was standing in the smithy yard in ridiculous armor. An innocent woman was to be hanged. It was up to him to "prove" her innocence by defeating the sheriff's chosen champion. Shannon had tried to find another way, and although he learned that the likely murderer of the woman Beatrice was that champion himself, Leofu, the one person who no doubt could prove that would not budge. Rory was just going to have to fight.

While his armor was being prepared Rory had an opportunity to visit the prisoner in the gaol one more time. He sat in her cell just gazing at her. She looked puzzled and asked, "Rory, thou looks at me as though thou hast seen me ere this? But more, with a sense of wonder? What does it mean?"

Rory looked at Sunshine and replied as best he could. "Ye remind me of a fair lady who hath my heart in thrall. She is a Queen, and I have served her well these many years."

Sunshine smiled. "But this Queen hath a King?"

Rory nodded, "Aye, a noble King who is me liege lord as well. Her happiness is with the King. Sure and I know that.. Whether she loves me or no, it cannae e'er be, e'en were she not a Queen."

The woman gazed into Rory's face. "Thou art a most noble man thyself, Rory. What sorrow that thou hast no love of thy own."

"Aye, well, that be me fate, I think. To have loved the Queen shall be me testament." He tried to smile.

She stood from her rickety bench and walked to the bars of her cell. "God give thee strength and grace, sir knight."

He started to protest that he was a mere soldier, and not a knight. She stopped him with a gesture. "There may be no more noble knight than thou, Sir Rory."

He had stood when she did, and now she had come to him and planted a soft, chaste kiss on his lips. His face flushed and he drew in a sharp breath. The kiss from Josephine's double was almost more than he could bear.

The woman said, "I shall pray for thee, good sir," and she knelt and began to tick off the beads in her slender rosary. Rory bowed unseen and was let out of the cell by the guard.

Next: Trial by Battle concludes

Trial by Battle: A Murder Mystery - Part the Second

Sunshine's grandfather had hugged and thanked them for the dozenth time before hobbling of with a smile on his face, leaving them standing in front of the gaol.

Rory turned to Shannon. "That wasn't.? it couldn't be..?"

Shannon laughed, "Dinnae be daft. 'Twas not. D'ye think that Lawrence would stand by while his darlin' Josephine languished in a Darlington gaol?"

Rory nodded, "Nay, I suppose ye are right. Still.." He cast a glance back at the gaol. "She is so like…"

"Aye, that she is," said Shannon. "Sure, and now what do we do?"

Rory thought. "Aye, well, first I need to find a sword and some armor."

Shannon smiled, "That would no doubt be useful."

Rory thought some more. "And it would be wise to learn somethin' o' me opponent."

"Good thinkin', me lad," his friend said.

"And mayhap we should try to find out what really happened to the murdered woman," Rory finished.

"She was murdered," Shannon replied.

"Och, I know that, but how? And who by?" Rory answered irritably. "If we can find out, mayhap we can avoid the trial by battle."

Shannon agreed. "That might be the wisest choice, Rory me lad. Particularly for ye." He thought a moment. "Ye should go find out about armor and the heavy assigned to see to it the woman hangs. I will see what I can be after doin' t' find out about the crime."

Rory rubbed his neck, remembering another hanging.

The Irishmen agreed and went off on their respective errands.

Rory headed for the village forge to talk to the blacksmith. He found the man, short, thickset and with lots of burn scars, standing over his forge pounding on steel while a boy pumped the bellows to intensify the heat. The man made Rory wait until he finished the edge he was hammering out before he would stop and talk. Rory stood in the shade and watched the work while the boy stared with his mouth open at him.

Plunging the hot steel into a bucket of water that then plumed with steam, the blacksmith turned and came over to Rory. "Well then lad, what can I do for ye?"

"I am after needin' some light armor and a sword."

The smith considered the man in the colorful clothing of a minstrel. "For a mummer's play?" he asked.

Rory laughed but not without some trepidation showing in his voice. "Nay, would it were so, but I am needin' them for a battle.. a trial by battle. Don't worry, I was not always a minstrel."

The smith had settled back on his squat frame when he had heard "trial by battle". "Sooo," he drew out, "the old man found his pretty granddaughter a champion. Ye may rue that day, minstrel."

Rory nodded, "Aye, and that I may. What can ye tell me about all this?"

The smith motioned for Rory to follow him into the little cottage next to the smithy. He gestured to a chair at a little table, and took a pitcher and cups from a shelf. He poured ale for Rory and himself, then sat down at the table. "What be thy name, minstrel?"

Rory told him.

"Rory, my lad, there are two tales by that one. I shall tell thee both." He took a draught of his ale and began. "'Tis said the fair Sunshine and this woman Beatrice were in love with the same man. But Beatrice's father has many sheep, a pig and two goats, where Sunshine has only her pretty self. So the man chose Beatrice and Sunshine killed her in revenge."

Rory waited, then asked, "And the other story?"

"The sheriff of this town is an ill-visaged man who hath conceived a lust for our pretty prisoner. She had refused him. He took advantage of the mysterious death of Beatrice to take his revenge. He said Sunshine did it. He holds sway of every man in the town, so he knew no man would come forward to champion her and he would be done with the wench."

He leveled a speculative look on McGuinness. "So the old man has found someone, a stranger, to champion her.. and a man who has let some years fall between wielding a sword and now. Why will ye do it? Ye have no tie to the girl, do ye?"

Rory shrugged, "It be that hard to explain. Let us just say I feel I must. So can ye fit me with armor and a sword?"

The smith let the earlier comment go. "D'ye have any money?"

Rory shrugged again, "Not much. I don't suppose me lad Shannon and me can sing for it? I should not need it for more than the once."

The smith guffawed.. "methinks thou will be singing with the heavenly host soon enough. Mayhap ye should save thy breath." He seemed to consider for a moment. "Lad, I should like to see the girl saved. She was kind to my wife when she was ill and dying. I have some old armor and a rusty sword that I can lend thee, and I will make them ready for thee. But tell me this, lad," he added, "Can ye do it?"

Rory laughed, "I will or die trying'."

"Aye," was all the smith replied.

Rory took a nervous gulp of his ale. "What can ye tell me of the man I must fight?"

The smith got up, took the pitcher, and refilled their cups. "'Tis the murdered girl's intended, Leofu, a brawny youth with no brains but lots of muscle."

Rory stared. "Och, faith, I shall just have to find a way to best him." He asked, "Can I practice in ye'r forge yard?"

The smith nodded and they finished off their drinks.

Meanwhile Shannon was thinking of how to get at the truth of the matter. Not knowing what Rory now did, he had to find his own source of information. Shannon had a method by which he always found out what he needed to know about a town, and that was to find a pretty young girl starved for romance. His lute in tow, he nosed around some of the houses on the outskirts of town. He was rewarded quickly with the sight of a young woman with her skirts tucked up baring her legs as she stomped around in a vat of water and suds.

The laundress looked up when Shannon hummed a little tune to find the man leaning on the side of the bat, which came up to his chest. She immediately started to smooth her clothes, without dislodging her hiked up skirts. "Sir, I did not hear ye come up. I am such a sorry sight.." she stammered. Strange good looking men were not unheard of in the town, but this one was better looking than most.. and smiling at her.

"Nay, nay, colleen, ye are a sight for sore eyes. I have not seen such shapely legs in many a month." Shannon was as smooth as glass, even in withdrawal.

"Oh, sir, nay, that cannot be. I hear a strange note in thy voice.. where are thee from?" she asked coquettishly.

He bowed slightly, and doffed his cap to her. She was enchanted. "Shannon O'Neill, of County Tyrone in Ireland, at ye'r service, bonny lass," he said with a flourish.

She started to tuck her hair up into her scarf so it would not be hanging in her face. He reached up and stopped her hand. He pulled at the scarf and it came free, allowing her dark hair to fall in cascades over her shoulders. He sighed with pleasure. "Och, machroidhe," he breathed.

The young woman touched her own hair and smiled delightedly. "Really?" she asked, having no idea what he had said.

He nodded and kissed her hand. Then he kept hold of the hand to help her out of the vat. She loosed her skirts so they fell around her bare ankles. "My name is Rowena," she told him.

He looked up with his eyes shut as if savoring a delicious sound. "Rowena" he sounded out slowly and melodically. He took up his lute, which she had not noticed before, and strummed a few chords and sang in a husky voice, "Rowena.. lovely, lovely Rowena, wash my soul clean of all that sorrows it.."

He probably could have had her right then and there.. but of course, he was being true to Heather so he was not planning to have her anywhere. But he did hold out a steadying arm as his voice crooning her name overcame her. "Dear lass is there somewhere we can sit.. ye are exhausted off ye'r pretty tiny feet."

She nodded languidly and motioned to some upturned washtubs they could sit on. He led her as though he was leading the Queen of the May over to the tub and seated her, joining her on the adjacent tub. She gazed at him through dark lashes He smiled into her eyes and mumbled something in Gaelic that she was sure were words of love.

He picked up his lute again and began to sing. His voice was not deep but resonant and sweet, lyrical and rich with his brogue. He sand a song he had learned many years ago about how Guenevere had been tried for treason by King Arthur and sentenced to be burned at the stake. Then Lancelot came along and rescued her. Rowena listened enraptured.

When the ballad was finished she sighed. "That is such a romantic song. I wish there was a Lancelot for my friend Sunshine."

Without betraying that this was the very topic he had hoped to broach, Shannon asked, "Lovely Rowena, who is she and why is she after needin' a rescue?"

Rowena sighed, thrilled to have a story this pretty man wanted to hear. "The sheriff says she killed that bi.. that awful woman Beatrice. In revenge for Beatrice winning the man they both love."

Shannon leaned his chin on his hand and closer to her this way, smiled directly into her eyes. "Aye? And ye dinnae believe she did it?

Rowena protested, "Nay! She was never in love with Leofu! Why would she kill for him?"

Shannon gazed and Rowena felt faint. "But the bi.. the awful woman is dead. Who killed her then, me darlin' girl?"

Rowena looked around to see if anyone was listening. Then she leaned closer to Shannon. They were almost nose to nose. "Well," she whispered, "If you ask me, it was Leofu himself." She closed her eyes. He leaned forward and gave her a soft, lingering kiss. He was pleased to feel his body stirring, but repressed his urges nonetheless.

"Now, colleen, why would the man kill his only beloved?" Shannon said, his lips millimeters from hers again.

Rowena was flushed with the pleasure of the kiss. "Because he was not her only love…" she said dreamily.

Shannon's lips spread in a smile. "Och, aye. And how dye know this, me pretty one."

Rowena smiled at being called pretty. "Because my brother is the one she was untrue with."

Shannon rewarded the woman with another soft, lingering kiss. She leaned into it and nearly toppled forward when Shannon sat upright. He put his cap back on his head, picked up his lute, and said to Rowena, "Temptress! I must leave ye or me darlin' wife Heather will have me skin." He stood, bowed, and took his leave.

Rowena just whined, "Wife!" and sat pouting on her washtub.

Shannon found Rory in the smithy's yard hefting a sword that was as long in the tooth, perhaps, as Sunshine's grandfather. He held it expertly in his two hands and was testing its weight and balance.

"Ye can take the boy out of the army, but ye cannae take the army out of the boy, me lad," Shannon observed, getting a dirty look for his reward. "Where is the armor?"

"The smith is cleaning it up now," Rory replied.

"Getting all the rat turds and spider webs out I be thinkin'?" He ducked a blow from Rory's free arm.

Shannon told Rory what he had found out and Rory told Shannon what he found out. Together the tales made quite a pretty picture.

Rory asked, "Now how do we expose this bastard, Leofu?"

Shannon shrugged. "Methinks the sheriff's not after wantin' to investigate things much. So mayhap there is a witness.. While ye hone ye'r ancient sword skills with ye'r ancient sword, I'll be after lookin' into that."

Rory laughed, "And this time, no kissin'."

Shannon gave him a mock look of horror. "Saints preserve us!" He looked at his friend's sword and shook his head. "Sad. Very sad."

Getting more information was not easy. The townspeople were terrified of the sheriff and not inclined to stick their necks out when the gallows was being erected on the town common before them. Shannon thought to talk to Rowena again but decided he had probably ruined that source when he mentioned his wife. But it made him think of Rowena's brother, the fair Beatrice's paramour. He went looking for the man, a woodcutter by trade he learned, and found him in a glade splitting firewood.

The man considered Shannon warily. "So ye are the wastrel who seduced my sister."

Shannon threw up his hands, "'Twas nothin' more than a kiss! Well, two kisses."

The woodcutter nodded and said, "And now she is wailin' her misfortune fallin' in with a married man."

Shannon could say nothing, so he just displayed his best toothy smile.

The man urged, "What do ye want, minstrel? Ye are not here to ask for my sister's hand."

Shannon decided to broach the subject directly. "Ye'r lovely sister told me ye were more than a little acquainted with the late Beatrice…" he began.

The man swung his ax down in an arc that made a loud whoosh-thunk sound when the blade pierced and stuck in the wood he was splitting. Shannon jumped a bit.

"I knew Beatrice, aye. What of it?" the man glowered.

Shannon took a small step back trying to be out of easy reach of the ax next time it came down. "D'ye believe the fair Sunshine killed her?"

Rowena's brother gave a short scornful snort. Then he just looked at Shannon and with his eyes eloquently expressed his reluctance to say another word.

Shannon pressed, "But ye know somethin'.. I can tell. And ye cannae let the innocent be hanged. Ye must come forward."

The man glowered. "Mind thy own business, minstrel." He went back to cutting wood and no matter how Shannon prodded and urged, would say nothing more.

Back at the smithy Shannon gave Rory the bad news. "Me lad, I think ye will have to do battle."

Next: Trial by Battle contines

Trial by Battle: A Murder Mystery, Part the First

few days out of Sheffield and the two minstrels were making steady progress north to where they would veer westerly towards Connery in Scotland. They were resting now in the shade of a broad leafy oak.

Shannon seemed better the past day. He was still silent but his face was softer and his temper not so short. "Are ye feelin' any better, Shan?" he asked.

Shannon smiled wryly. "Nay, I be just getting' used to feelin' like shit." He seemed to be considering something. "Sure and there is one advantage to feelin' as bad as I do."

Rory smiled and asked what that was.

"'Tis easy to stay true to me darlin' Heather."

Rory laughed.

Shannon looked at Rory seriously. "Old son, I ken not how ye manage to go with out a colleen once in a while. How do ye handle it?"

Rory blushed. "Now, Shannon, ye know how a man handles bein' without a woman," he said, embarrassed.

Shannon nodded. "Aye, and I dinnae even feel like doin' that."

Silence lay between them for a while, and then Rory spoke up. "Sure and I have been thinkin' of a song ye sang for me once.. it had a strange sound, with many changes in tempo and mode. Did it not go like this?" Rory intentionally sang a line of the song incorrectly.

Shannon stopped him, waving a hand in his direction. "Nay nay, 'tis like this." He sang the song the right way.

Rory shook his head, "Och, nay, 'tis like this." He sang again, making a tempo change that should not have been there.

Shannon shook his head wildly. "Stop the noise.. Ye have it all wrong. " He picked up the lute at his side and cradled it in his arms. "'Listen," he commanded. He began to play and sing the song, with a rich tone to his voice and a delicate accompaniment on the instrument.

"Shan, me lad," Rory began after he was finished.

Shannon took a moment to look up from where he was fingering a chord thoughtfully. "Aye?"

Rory grinned, "Ye'r voice is back."

Shannon stared at him a moment, then smiled. "Aye?"

Rory nodded. "Time to be on our way."

As they walked Rory engaged Shannon in discussion about the different types of music the man knew. He could soak up tunes and instrumentation like a sponge. He had a knack for catching onto the character of a particular region's musical style. He seemed fascinated by everything he heard, the different instruments, the way some cultures expressed emotion through song and the way others drove a beat into their melodies. As they walked Shannon would cradle his beloved lute and demonstrate a sound to Rory.

Late in the afternoon as they approached a village called Nosterfield where they might rest and have a meal, he turned to Rory. "Thank ye, me lad. I do love ye."

Rory smiled and mussed the shorter man's red wild hair. "I know ye do, Shan. I love ye too."

The villagers welcomed and fed them. They proffered ale but Shannon just ignored.. or appeared to ignore.. the cup set by him. He sang and told stories and jests. Rory joined in and when they left, they were both buoyed up by the gratitude the isolated villagers had shown.

They had talked earlier and Shannon had said that he would prefer to bunk down in the woods rather than in the village. "No sense battlin' temptation when I can remove meself from it." They found a sheltered spot and like most other nights, spread out their bedrolls and lay down.

Shannon was asleep and snoring lightly in no time. Rory lay and looked up into the canopy of leaves lit by their fire. He heard a sound, and at first assumed it was the cry of a small animal. He heard it again and recognized it as the giggle of a little girl. He went up on his elbows to find who it was. There just out of the firelight he saw a small figure. "Why, wee one, what do ye here?" he asked.

The figure just giggled again. He slowly got to his feet and moved towards her. The child moved slightly towards him.

To Rory's shock he recognized her. She either was or looked just like the little flaxen haired girl he had seen just north of Nottingham. She had the same light blue dress. She had one finger in her mouth and she smiled at him again and giggled. "Rory," she said in a soft voice. Then she turned and ran into the woods.

Rory followed but could not see where she could have gone. Nothing stirred. The bushes and grasses should be moving back into place after her passing.

He went back to Shannon and shook him. "Shannon, me boy, I have just seen the oddest thing."

Shannon reluctantly opened his eyes. "What? What did ye see?"

Rory told him about the girl. Shannon just waved him off. "'Twas a dream. Go back to sleep." He shut his eyes again.

Rory went back to his bedroll and lay down. He was probably right. It had probably been a dream. He mused for a while and then fell asleep.

Over the next two days he thought often of the little girl and how real she had seemed. The background of his reverie was Shannon's voice as he hummed and sang, spoke about melodies and lyrics with less animation perhaps than he once would, but with energy all the same. It was a sound that soothed Rory.

They saw at length that they were approaching a good sized town. Shannon said, "I think that is Darlington. Sure and I don't remember it very well from me earlier visit but we should be able to get a good meal here."

And a good meal they did find. In a little inn called the Rabbit and the Hound they were served a hearty mutton stew and good bread. Rory drank spring water along with Shannon. Shannon obliged with a song or two and their meals, as always, were on the house. The innkeeper had gone back to his other customers with a happy smile on his face when an old lame man came and sat by the minstrels. "Oh please, my good fellows, thou must help me!" he said in a hoarse whisper.

Shannon's mouth was full but Rory replied. "What ails ye, old Da?"

"It is my granddaughter, good sirs."

Shannon's eyebrow went up and he said icily, "Old father, dinnae truck for ye'r granddaughter. It is not fittin'"

The old man looked offended. "Nay, 'tis not that! She has been wrongly imprisoned. She is accused of a woman's murder, but my granddaughter did not kill her. I would stake my life on it." The man's eyes had filled with tears, and these ran over into the many creases of his old face.

Shannon apologized for the error and asked the old man, "What can we do for her? We are not lawyers."

The man grabbed onto Rory's upper arm and seemed to be feeling it. "She is to be tried by battle, fine fellows. But she has no family but me. How can she find a champion? The men of this town are cowards. " He continued to grasp Rory's arm. "Thou art a strong man. Methinks thou hast not always been a minstrel."

Rory and Shannon exchanged glances. "Aye, ye are right. Old Da. I was a soldier first. But I know ye and ye'r granddaughter not. How should I come to be her champion?"

The old man pleaded, "Please sir, come to meet her. I am sure that thou wilt want to save her life. My Sunshine is a good and sweet girl…"

Rory interrupted, "What did ye call her? Sunshine?" Shannon blew out a breath of air.

The man looked hopeful. "Sunshine. That is her name. Her mother took one look at her wee sweet face and said, 'This is my Sunshine.'"

Shannon grinned from ear to ear. "Me old fellow, I think ye have a champion."

The old man took the two Irishman to meet his granddaughter. The guards at the gaol were none too pleased to see someone coming forth to defend the woman, but they let the old man in with his companions. The key was put in the lock and the gaol cell door thrown open. A small figure in a hooded cloak kneeled at prayer in a corner, but at the sound of the door, she crossed herself and stood and turned. As she did the hood fell back.

"Jesus, Mary and Joseph.. it be Sunshine all right," Shannon gasped. There in front of them all was a young woman who could easily have been the Queen of Christenlande's identical twin. In every regard save her clothing she was Josephine's double. She may have been a few years younger, but this was not noticeable since the Queen, whose childhood nickname was Sunshine, herself was young in appearance.

Shannon said, "I hope the King ne'er meets ye'r granddaughter sir, or his head will come clean off his shoulders."

The old man looked puzzled at him. "Which King?"

But Sunshine had come forward to meet her grandfather's companions. In a soft voice not much unlike the Queen's she greeted them, "Good sirs, thou knowest my name. Now I wish to know thine."

Rory instantly was tongue-tied. Shannon was barely more articulate. "Me lass, me name is Shannon O'Neill, and this big mute is Rory McGuinness. We are minstrel's in King Lawrence's.. and Queen Josephine's.. court in Christenlande." When he said the Queen's name his voice deepened with significance.


Josephine

Sunshine smiled prettily. "Minstrels? Come to comfort me in my darkest hour?"

The old man interposed, "No, my Sunshine, the tall one is also a soldier. He will do battle for you in the trial by battle."

She looked at Rory with new respect and hope. Meanwhile Shannon was smarting from Rory's being called "the tall one", not just "the taller one". He muttered, "The wee one is just a minstrel." No one heard him.

Rory stammered, "Aye, my lady, I mean, um, aye, um, Sunshine, miss, I mean…"

"The tall one is not so smart, me thinks, " Shannon remarked with a satisfied grin.

Sunshine looked at him and smiled her dazzling, queenly smile. Rory gasped. She said, "Thou shall fight for me, Rory?"

Rory swallowed and without a second thought bowed and replied, "Aye, my lady, that I shall."

Next: Trial By Battle, Part the Second

Note: I promise the book doesn't have all the thee's and thou's and even Shannon and Rory are toned down.

Shannon's and Rory's Journey - Part 6: The Outlaws of Sherwood Forest

Now you didn't think there was only one set of outlaws in that forest, did you??

s the two minstrels headed north from Nottingham into the north half of the forest on the old Roman road through the heart of Sherwood Forest, Shannon leveled a considering look on Rory.

Rory, who had been smiling at some inward thought, looked back at him and asked, "What?"

Shannon replied, "So what was all that back there at Mary's house?"

"What was all what back there?" Rory countered peevishly. He was mixed up enough in his own mind, without being interrogated.

Shannon just smiled a slightly sardonic grin for a moment. "All that, 'I may ne'er see ye again but..'" He said the last in a mock dramatic voice."

Rory thought, "I can be after doin' without this particular Shannon O'Neill.. the unsmiling and sarcastic." To Shannon he said, in a soft voice, "Shan, me friend, I dinnae know… I just dinnae know."

Shannon gazed at him a while longer, then turned his eyes to face the direction they were walking and kept silent.

Rory was becoming accustomed to this silence, so out of character for the normally buoyant friend of his childhood. So he was startled when Shannon quipped, "D'ye know why they call it Sherwood Forest?"

Rory looked over, "Och, nay, I dinnae know that."

Shannon gave him an impish grin. "For the reason that if ye ask a forester if he'd like a drink, he always says, 'Sure and I would.'"

Rory stopped and looked after his friend. Then he laughed, one single guffaw. "Does me heart good to hear ye jest, even if 'tis a terrible jest," he said, and started to walk again.

Shannon's face was already sour again. "Well, dinnae get used to it.. ye heard what Mary said, I be not out o' the woods yet.." He looked around at Rory. "And that was NOT a jest."

Just as the two started into the forest, which would someday be the most famous one in England in spite of the fact its most famous resident had never existed, Rory happened to see a small girl sitting on the stone at the place where two different paths converged into the one leading into the forest. He was struck by her look. She was maybe six years old, had straight flaxen hair, and was dressed in a pale blue dress. Blue was a hard color to come by for dyes in that time.. in fact in Ireland, only the High King of Tara was even allowed to wear it. He also noticed how clean she was. This was no trivial matter. Small children in the countryside were never clean since they played int eh dust all day and probably never got a bathing.

As they approached she smiled brightly at Rory and Shannon. Rory bowed graciously and took off his hat to her. Shannon just nodded. The girl giggled but said nothing and did not move. "Pretty wee thing, "Rory commented after they had passed. Shannon grunted assent inn reply.

Rory had a great deal of time to think about anything he wanted as they took the winding road through the forest. Even the Romans, with their road building skill, could not straighten out a path through the ancient oaks and other trees in this old forest. He thought about Shannon and the depths to which he had sunk in Nottingham. Rory had seen him drunk to the point of stupor, but never distraught as he had been.

He took his heart in his hands and asked, "Shan, what happened that night?"

Shannon shot him a look that said, "Watch ye'rself!" He glared at Rory for a minute, then his shoulders sagged.

"I cannae remember all o' it." He continued walking, his head bowed except for brief glances up along the road they were traveling. "I gave ye the slip, I remember, and found another tavern. As soon as the innkeeper saw me lute, he was all smiles and tankards of ale and urgin' me t' sing. The same happened at the next inn, and the next."

He sighed and his face took a pained look. "Then I met this colleen, pretty thing, shapely. I was very drunk by then, it seemed almost more than I usually get when I've had that much. She plied me with drink, then said we should go out into the street for some lovin'. I dinnae know if I could have followed through with the lovin' part, but I was game t' try. Me Heather was the furthest thing from me mind."

Shannon reached up and touched his broken nose. His eyes were both blackened. He walked with a slight limp from being kicked in the kneecap. He moved his jaw painfully. Mary had not been sure if it was broken too, like his nose. Rory winced just looking at his friend's swollen and bruised face.

"Sure and as soon as we got outside and I was after startin' to kiss her, I was grabbed from behind. There were two thugs a-standin' there, grinnin'. They told me they wanted me money.. I told them I dinnae have any. They dinnae believe me. One o' them held me while th'other searched, all the while the wench stood and smiled. O' course, they dinnae find any. "

He walked along in silence for a while. "The bigger one flew into a rage and snatched me lute. I cried out to leave it, but that just made the blackguard grin and he threw it into a puddle. When I tried to get it, th'other one tripped me. I felt them both kickin' me, and one kick found me knee." He leaned down to rub it. "Then one o' them pulled me up and they took turns punchin' me in the face. I dinnae know if I stayed conscious. I barely recall ye comin' t' find me. All I know is I wanted to crawl under somethin' and die."

Rory nodded, "Ye were that bad hurt."

Shannon shook his head. "'Twas not that. I felt like that big an ass. All me brave words and promises. I dinnae know how I got here, Rory. How did I become this besotted man?"

Rory knew there was no comfort, no answer for that. Perhaps it took that to make his friend find a way out. "Ye reached the bottom, Shan, I think. I don't think ye can fall any further. It will be all uphill from here."

Shannon looked at him, considering. "I hope so," he said, then fell back into silence.

Robin Hood's Merry men were not the only outlaws, real or imaginary, to people the many haunts of the Forest. Many rather less romantic brigands lived there and kept close watch on travelers, robbing from everyone to give to themselves. The two types of travelers that generally went unmolested were poor friars.. and minstrels. Musicians and players were known to bring more joy than gold into the huge track of woodland. Rory knew that at some point they would be waylaid, but all that would be stolen from them is some time and music.

He and Shannon were well along their way to Sheffield in the north of the forest when at last they came to a small band of outlaws standing casually in the road. Rory bowed elaborately and Shannon, looking wary, nodded his head. The man who seemed to be in charge of the small party stepped forward.

"Well met, good fellows. I see ye are musicians by this fellow's lute. Come and entertain us at our camp." Both of the minstrels knew this was not an invitation and Rory, acting as spokesperson, accepted the command graciously. He and Shannon followed the men deeper into the forest away from the road.

Rory tried to come next to Shannon to warn him to be careful not to anger their "hosts". He feared Shannon would refuse to sing as he had done at their inn. He would look over at his friend and see him staring warily at the outlaws, and never could get a moment to speak with him. So instead he went up to the leader and explained, "Please, me good sir, me friend is terrible sick. He cannot sing or play. I shall entertain ye."

The man laughed. "He be not sick, man. He be thrashed. If he keeps himself calm, we will not bother him."

"Let me be after tellin' him, then," Rory requested.

The leader eyed him suspiciously. "Nay, I will not. He is on his own."

They were taken to a clearing with numerous campfires and makeshift cottages, with men, women and children all about. The minstrels' appearance drew the attention of all, and they crowded around. A path was made among them for what was obviously the leader of all these people, a man with no nose and one missing ear and a long throw from the handsome Robin Hood. He eyed them and spoke, "Where are ye from, minstrels?"

Rory answered, "Me friend Shannon here and I are from Ireland, in the north counties. But we be employed in the court of Lawrence in Christenlande."

The man looked pleased. "Ah, aye, many years ago I was an outlaw in Christenlande, and that same King gave me a chance to come out of outlawry. Had it not been that outlawry was my nature I should still be there in Lawrencium. Welcome, Shannon and.." He paused for his name.

"Rory. Rory McGuinness."

Rory found himself suddenly staring at a half dozen daggers pointing in his and Shannon's direction. They lifted their hands and the dagger Rory wore was taken from him.

The outlaw leader said, "Ye cannot be Rory McGuinness. Rory McGuinness is dead. He was hanged. Everyone knows that.'

Rory tried to laugh, "Och, ye mean that song. Here be the man who wrote that song, Shannon O'Neill. He will tell ye that it was a mistake. He thought I was hanged, but sure and I was rescued."

The leader stared at Shannon. "Be this true?"

Shannon croaked out a weak, "Aye, 'tis true. I am O'Neill and this is McGuinness and we are both livin'."

The leader watched them both from under glowering eyebrows. "How do I know ye are speakin' the truth? "

Rory and Shannon exchanged looks. Shannon ventured, "What if I sing the ballad, will ye believe me?"

"Everyone knows the ballad. Everyone can sing it. What would make your singin' it prove who ye are?" The daggers were still pointing in their direction along with some cocked arrows and a sword or two.

Shannon actually smiled, one of his old grins, and asked in a cheerful voice, "But can everyone sing so the women faint all about?"

The leader considered this. He nodded and signaled his men to step back. "Let's see what ye can do."

Rory and Shannon were ushered to a stump in the middle of the camp and quickly surrounded by all manner of outlaws and their families. His lute had been taken from him on the march to the camp, and now it was handed back to Shannon. He began to tune it, worried that the soaking it had taken would have ruined the sound. While he did this, Rory leaned to him and whispered, "I hope ye can do this. Ye are not exactly a handsome man at the moment."

Shannon's irritable retort was cut off by a warning from the leader of the outlaws. "No plottin' an escape or nothin'."

Shannon gave Rory a resigned look and said, "Sure, and here goes." He geld his lute and began to sing the song. Rory as usual joined in a higher voice on the chorus.

The outlaws were clearly enchanted. Shannon's voice was not its usual fine self but it was a far piece finer than any these people had heard. Rory worriedly watched the younger women, who unfortunately did not seem particularly moved. The outlaw leader occasionally dragged his attention from the singers too, to look at the listeners, and frowned.

"Sing a tooralay tooralay farewell me son, For Finnegan O'Donnell his evil has done."

Shannon and Rory finished and, their hearts in their throats, waited. An old crone made her way to where the outlaw leader stood and whispered something in his ear as he leaned low for her to reach him. Rory saw the woman shake her head.

"Och, sweet Jesus," he heard Shannon breathe. "Looks like I may get my wish after all.. and today I dinnae want it so much." They waited to learn the verdict.

The leader came over to the two of them and gave each a grim look. He reached and put one hand on each man's shoulder. He looked sharply at them and said, "My old mother said she does not belief this is O'Neill." The minstrels' hearts sank. Shannon started muttering a Pater Noster. The man continued. "She has seen both men some years back. She tells me this may be an older O'Neill. But she knows ye, McGuinness. So ye must live, as this other man claims." He smiled broadly and clapped them both hard on the shoulders. "So c'mon, give us another song!"

Shannon found that if he kept singing, while he had been given a tankard of ale, if he just did not drink it, tempting though it was, and he kept on singing, it was not refilled. He and Rory entertained the outlaws for almost three hours, with no intermission. They shared songs of all kinds, funny tales and inspiring tales, and were a complete and unarhuable success.

In the morning they were taken back to the road and deposited there, with claps on the back and much thanking and farewells. As the outlaws left them, the leader leaned to Rory and said, "Ye should get this poor man a drink. He'd be the better for it." Rory smiled and nodded.

When they were alone, he turned to Shannon. The leader said ye need a drink."

"Perceptive man," Shannon replied. Then he smiled wanly. "D'ye still have that drinkin' skin of water?"

Next: A Murder Mystery in Three parts

Shannon's and Rory's Journey - Part 5: Mary of Nottigham

t had been just as Rory feared. Once in Nottingham, as he urged Shannon to come with him to find a hostel where they could spend the night and find some food, Shannon balked.

"Och, Rory,." He whined. "Those places are always so damp and dull.. let us find some better accommodations.

Rory then suggested presenting themselves to the lord of Nottingham Castle and offering to sing for their supper. Shannon complained that he did not feel like singing and acting the clown,.

Rory eyed him without pleasure. "Sure, and I suppose ye want to stay at an inn."

Shannon gave him a level look. "Aye, and what is wrong wi' that idea, me friend?"

"Shan," Rory replied,. "D'ye think 'tis wise? Wi' ye tryin' to cut down the drink? And stayin' true to Heather?"

Shannon shrugged irritably. "I promise ye I will not drink. And ye can fight the bawds off me if ye like."

"Shan, I dinnae believe ye," Rory challenged.

Shannon flared. " Then the Devil take ye, Rory.. Ye think ye are me mither. I can take care o' meself. So are ye comin' wi' me, or are ye goin' to a hostel to tell ye'r sad tale o' the Queen who loves her husband instead of ye, ye poor pathetic ass. Why don't ye just get ye'rself a lass who can take the edge off once in a while. The noble act is after growin' pretty thin, me lad." Shannon sped his pace and walked farther and father ahead of his companion.

Rory had never seen his friend this bad. The man had egged on the King over the mistress the man had brought home. But he had used mostly cutting humor then. Now he was being nasty. The words cut him to the heart, but he knew his friend was deep in pain himself.

Rory tried to keep up with the red haired lutenist, thinking back all the while to when he had first seen that Shannon was no longer his own master when it came to drink and women. The two seemed to go hand in hand, with the notable exception of the man's wife, Heather, who would have nothing to do with him when he was drunk. The earlier period of his friend's marriage had been rocky, but it had been difficult to see why since Shannon was never really drunk and was completely true to his wife. Even when he and Shan had gone to war for the O'Neills in Ireland, Shannon had worked hard to keep himself true to his wife. Or at least that was what Rory knew until they were separated so violently on that terrible day at the O'Donnell's gallows. When he had seen the O'Neill again his lifelong friend had been devastated by the belief that himself, Rory, had been killed.

Back in Lawrencium Shannon looked older, sadder,- when he was not playing the happy Irish drunk , was puffy and red eyed and seemed to always be either in a tavern or some wench's bed.

When Rory had revealed himself Shannon had of course been joyful.. but the drink had got him then, and it was too late. Rory marveled at how easily drink had won him. Too much grief, too much loneliness he supposed. He knew the King and Queen and others among their friends watched Shannon with trepidation. Heather had long since left him, and Shannon had learned that she had been with their second child before he left for Ireland and not told him. But he was not angry, not Shannon. He was recriminating himself for not knowing how to make her happy and further, for hurting her so. He could not see that Heather shared the blame, and would fight with anyone who suggested it, anyone but the King, that is. At least the man had that much sense.

Through all the slipping into degradation Shannon himself refused to see how low and how quickly he was falling. It had only been in the past weeks that he had become aware that he was a target of humor and seen as pathetic and even repulsive. Chances are he would have gone on the same until the drink killed him, had Heather not written to say she wanted to see him. Shannon had immediately clung to a gossamer thread of hope that it meant she wanted to come back to him, and it was that hope and goal that had made him decide to drink less.

Rory followed Shannon into a tavern ominously called The End of the Road. They took a room and arranged for their meal with the little money they carried. Shannon had made it clear he was in no mood to perform in exchange for their keep. Rory just handed the coins to the innkeeper, and followed Shannon up to the dank, dark chamber.

Shannon fidgeted and paced, looking out the tiny window, and then going back to fling himself on the cot he was to sleep on. When Rory said something about dinner being brought to them, Shannon jumped up and growled, "I dinnae want no dinner in this armpit o' a room." He picked up his lute and flung open the door and took the stairs three at a time down to the tavern proper. Rory sighed and followed.

He found Shannon already sitting at along trestle table, telling a young wench to bring him a tankard of ale and some bread and cheese. He gave Rory a defensive look as the latter joined him and asked for the same. "One tankard can't kill me.. so dinnae even start." Rory said nothing.

He was surprised to see that Shannon did sip the ale slowly. He ate the food put before him. He made jokes to the wench about Rory, saying he was his nursemaid. "He may as well be a woman, since he does not seek their beds like other men," Shannon said cruelly. In spite of the hurtful jest, Rory was beginning to think he was being too hard on the man. Maybe he could exercise some self control.

When Shannon excused himself "to take a piss" Rory believed he would come back. Besides Rory's wish to believe the promise his friend had made, he carried the purse. Shannon could not pay for ale with out him. But as the minutes went by it suddenly occurred to Rory that Shannon had taken his lute with him to the alleyway. Rory stood abruptly, startling those around him, dropped a coin on the table and dashed out of the tavern. Shannon was nowhere to be seen.

Rory struggled between anger and a desire just to leave his friend to his own destruction and a fearful need to find him before something disastrous happened. Nottingham was not a city, by any means, but it was a crossroads town and therefore full of taverns and inns. There were even more on the road to the great Sherwood Forest that someday would be the site of many a romantic tale, and many on the other roads that led away. It took Rory almost two hours to find his friend, as he walked as far as he could down one road, then returned to walk the distance on another. When he found Shannon, he was not in a tavern.

Rory found Shannon in the street near a tavern. He was sitting on the ground, his knees pulled up and his head buried in his arms which rested on his knees. He was bloody and weeping. "Shannon, oh me saints, what happened?!" Rory noticed Shannon's lute tossed into a puddle not far away.

Shannon tried to look up but could not speak. Rory crouched by him and put his arms around his shoulders. Shannon shook with his sobbing and occasional coughs and hiccoughs. He managed to explain how he had come to this state in short bursts of wailing. It seemed he had gone from tavern to tavern, playing his lute for the tankards of ale they gave him. He was in the fourth inn. He vaguely gestured to the one they were outside of, when he was invited by a comely lass to follow her outside for some "lovin'" he said. Once in the street he was set on by two men, who, disgusted that he had no money, beat him quite badly and left him in the street, with his lute where it lay now.

Shannon suddenly turned a tear stained and miserable face to Rory. "Rory, I wish they had killed me.. will ye not finish it? I beg ye to kill me. I cannae take no more. I am no good to anyone, not to Heather, not to me children, not to ye, not to anyone. Heather will not have me.. I am less than a piece of shit." His face twisted in agony and he crumpled to the ground and writhed in the mud crying out in pain.

Rory cast his eyes about for help but there was none. He himself was in despair of knowing what to do. Shannon began to choke on his own saliva, and Rory grabbed at him, trying to right him so the spittle would run down his cheeks and not back into his windpipe. The smell of ale, vomit and worse covered the man.

Shannon started to struggle, to try to stand. He got to his feet, with Rory's help, and stumbled a bit. Then he swung a fist at Rory, missing. Rory caught him and kept him from toppling forward. He felt Shannon grasping at his belt and realized as his friend pulled away that he had Rory's dagger unsheathed. He stabbed at his own wrist, then when Rory grabbed for it, stabbed himself in the neck. He missed important veins but was still bleeding heavily. He muttered something about jumping into the river. As he tried to turn to walk away, Rory grabbed him by the collar and with one carefully calculated blow of his fist on the man's jaw, knocked his friend unconscious. He stood holding him upright in a bear hug unable to think what to do.

A voice came to him from the darkness. "Here, lad, bring him here." Rory turned to see a girl of little more than 16. "My house is just over this way. Ye can bring him there and he can sleep it off." Rory did not quibble but just dragged the man along to the girl's door and inside.

The house was barely more than a room with a roof. There was but one bed, but the girl told Rory to put Shannon there. She ran out the door and came back with water and a rag and began to clean the unconscious man up. Rory just stood and watched her, amazed. He saw that she had brought the lute in too and stood it against a wall to dry slowly.

"Why?" he began.

She looked up and smiled. "It was my sister who brought him out to the thugs. I would have helped him myself, but he was so violently distraught. I was relieved when thee came along and seemed t' know him."

She told Rory her name was Mary and that she sometimes worked in the tavern. She was desperately poor. She was not comely.. her face was covered with scars from the pox. But her voice was soft and sweet and her touch and look were as well. She cleaned Shannon's skin that she could reach, then gave the rag to Rory to clean where she should not. Then she went to a fireplace with a small smoky fire and brought Rory a bowl of steaming soup. "I have no bread. I am sorry." Before he could say anything, she asked, "Do ye have any money?"

He pulled his pouch from his belt and offered it to her. She shook her head, but took it and extracted a coin. "I shall return shortly." She left Rory to watch his friend as he slept.

When she returned she was carrying a small packet. He looked questioningly at her. "A root," she said in reply to his unspoken question. "I will make a decoction that will help him fight the hold drink has on him. And I will pray to my namesake, Mother Mary for him. Are ye a praying man?"

Rory stared at her. "I will pray with ye."

Over the next three days Mary gave the sleeping and then groggy Shannon the decoction she had made drop by drop. She had also made a tea of some other root that she made him drink hot, along with cup after cup of water. He was too sick and miserable to speak or resist and let her do it. She and Rory and even Shannon in a distant way prayed. Rory watched this angel of the street and marveled that beauty could shine from such a sad little creature.

As Shannon sat silent and staring into the fire the last night, Mary turned to Rory. "He is not out of the woods yet nor will he e'er be. He must pray to have the strength not to drink again. It will kill him. I have seen it happen. Some people can stand it, others cannot. I think your friend is sick in more than his body. Until he is healed in all ways, he will not be safe. I hope this wife of his is loving and sweet and a woman of God. That will be what he needs."

Rory could not answer with Shannon in hearing. He just nodded and bowed his head.

Mary caught the clue in his lack of an answer. She said as quietly as she could "If his wife is not that woman, ye will have to be that man, the man who can hold his head up out of the waters of despondency." Rory looked into her eyes, eyes radiating the intensity of her love for all. He tried to smile and nodded.

When the two Irishman were ready to leave on the last morning, Shannon still unsteady but anxious to move on, Rory took Mary aside. "I cannae thank ye as fully as ye deserve, Mary. "

She humbly took the coins he offered. "I shall use these to help others like your friend." She stood on tiptoe and kissed Rory on the cheek. He impulsively took her shoulders in his hands.

"Mary.. Me heart is promised to someone.."

Shannon turned with a sour look. "Someone who does not love him back."

Rory shot Shannon a cautioning look. Shannon shrugged and went back to staring down the road. "He is tellin' truth.. she does not love me as I love her.. she loves another and always shall." He hesitated. "I may ne'er see ye again, angel, but if I do.." He leaned and gave her a short, chaste kiss on her lips.

Mary smiled at him. "Rory, ye are a good, good man. God will lead your steps back here if it is to be."

With that and a look of gratitude, Rory took his leave of Mary and began the rest of the long trek to Scotland with his dearest friend.

Next: The Outlaws of Sherwood Forest